


Say My Name

by A_Stressed_Cupcake



Series: Sanders Sides Beetlejuice AU [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Apologies, Because I can, Beetlejuice AU, But like nice musical Delia, Car Accidents, Deceit is doing his best, Deceit is very stressed, Deceit's name is Damien Webb, Drowning, Established Relationship, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Drama, GET IT, Hurt/Comfort, Logan and Patton are good parents, Multi, No Smut, Remus takes a while to appear but when he does, Remy is Delia, Suicidal Thoughts, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Virgil and Roman are 15, Virgil is Lydia, and also, be safe, because Virgil is a spider boi, no Thomas or Emile today, oh and tw for, oh boy, plus some lore i made up, prinxiety if you squint - Freeform, so big warning for, sympathetic everyone, they'll probably make a cameo dw, this is a cross between the 1988 movie and the musical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-25 08:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20720915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Stressed_Cupcake/pseuds/A_Stressed_Cupcake
Summary: Virgil Webb wasn't scared of ghosts.Not since they'd started having sleepovers with him, anyway.A Beetlejuice AU that is slowly (very quickly) taking over my life.Individual TWs in each chapters!!!Edit: Thank you for 1k hits!!!





	1. House of Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, thanks for clicking on this fic :)  
This is my first published fanfic. Yaaay :D  
Enjoy this messy Beetlejuice AU, featuring friendship, Patton's delicious cookies, nice spirits, not so nice spirits, blood and Remus.  
That took a strange turn.

Virgil would have loved to say that there was nothing wrong with the house at first glance, but that would have been a lie, and Virgil was no liar. No, there was most definitely something wrong with the house. For starters, the structure. It was tall, like, twice the size of their previous house, but had the same number of stories. Upon entering the house, he attributed most of the extra height to the hall alone: it was huge, with a massive chandelier hanging in the middle.

Then, there was the spider thing. Virgil loved spiders, so he didn't mind at all, but the house was full of the little bastards scuttling around, fuller than any house should reasonably be. He thought he'd spotted a few dangerous species here and there too, which was weird since he knew there had been a young boy living in the house and most, if not all the kids his age he'd ever met tended to screech and flee dramatically in the presence of any arachnids (or just squash the poor things with a shoe), let alone venomous arachnids.

Also, it was so humid it could've been dubbed "soggy", way too humid even for a late Victorian mansion. There were patches of wet carpet absolutely everywhere, entire puddles in the basement, and Virgil's new room always had random puddles in the bathroom. His dad hadn't told him, but he knew by the contents of the room that it must've been the previous tenants' son who owned it before him. And that made him incredibly uncomfortable and sad. He wasn't supposed to listen in on his father's conversations, of course, but when has that ever stopped anyone? So of course he had overheard him talking to the realtor about the previous owners and why all their stuff was still there. Turns out they had died. Yep. All three on the same night. Apparently, they’d gotten into an accident while they were driving home from their son's play. And Virgil had no doubt that this boy was an actor. His room was filled to the brim with props, costumes, posters for movies and plays, gadgets, scripts scattered all over his desk… he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the boy. He was his age, apparently, and they definitely shared a love for movies, theater and music, although their tastes in genres differed greatly.

Virgil walked around the house in quiet reverence of the owners' possessions. Their personalities were etched into every piece of furniture, every object, every wall of the house. The kitchen had obviously been someone's favourite room, for starters. The baking equipment had clearly been used a lot, yet it had been cleaned and organized with the utmost care. The style of furniture was reminiscent of a classic 1950's kitchen, and so were some of the clothes Virgil had found while snooping around the parents' room. This man seemed so nice and sweet. A faint scent of vanilla could still be smelled in the entire house, but was particularly strong in those soft, baby blue shirts in the left side of the closet. He had found a bottle of cologne that presumably belonged to the man since it also vaguely smelled of vanilla, and had carefully picked it up. The bottle was old-fashioned, just like everything else in the man's closet, a perfect vintage style. He had held on to it, feeling a strange attachment to it and to everything the family owned. The scent of that cologne was simply too much like his dad’s old shampoo and those cakes he used to bake sometimes. This guy’s personality was infused everywhere in the house.

Not to mention the other dad. He clearly spent quite some time in the study, where Virgil had found stacks upon stacks of blueprints and drawings. An architect, perhaps. And a writer, he found out when he managed to open his computer, which contained a whole folder of essays and novels. He had quickly and avidly read through all of them, bitterly noting that most of them were incomplete. This man had been so full of ideas, so efficient and well-studied, as his huge library proved. There were all kinds of essays in there, a small section of comic books (possibly a collector’s item), novels in four different languages, lots of school textbooks (maybe the son’s?), encyclopedias and entire binders full of sketches and projects. There were more books in their room. One of them had a bookmark only a few chapters away from the end. The sick feeling in his stomach only grew stronger looking at all the unfinished works the family had left behind. No place made him feel worse than the boy’s room, though. There were so many drawings, paintings, scripts, stories, blueprints, music heets, and nearly all of it was incomplete. It was very obvious that he’d had millions of ideas buzzing in his head at all times, too many to finish anything before he lost interest and started something new. It was relatable, really. Virgil had written some pretty embarrassing stories in middle school, which now lay abandoned in a binder somewhere in one of the many boxes he hadn’t found it in himself to open. Sure, he wanted to make the room comfortable, but he hadn’t dared to put up more than a few things and hadn’t moved a single thing in the boy’s room if not to look at it. He did, however, move the stuff that had been on the nightstand.

He reached into a box with “FRAGILE!” written in big letters on the side and carefully lifted a framed picture out of it, reverently placing it on his nightstand like the statue of a saint being ceremoniously lifted onto its pedestal. A child and a man smiled at him from behind the glass. He must've been ten or eleven when that picture was taken. Good times.  
Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than a hug and a cup of hot chocolate milk. Maybe a goodnight kiss too, he thought, letting himself fall on the bed. He briefly wondered if his father genuinely thought that giving him space was a good idea or if he just didn't have the patience or time to deal with his emo bullshit, before settling on the latter and turning up the volume on his headphones. The fairy lights he'd put up on his wall glowed softly, a warm yellow, welcoming and loving, just like the man in the picture. He imagined that warm light was a hug and that loud bass in his ears a lullaby, and soon enough he was dreaming of vanilla cake and clean dress shirts.


	2. Unease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil wants out. There is something wrong with this house.  
Remy said self-care! But Remy doesn't sleep so maybe don't take his word as gospel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drowning, head injury, crying, car accident, past character death, panic, nightmares

_A summer night._  
_ It was so hot and somehow the man in the passenger seat still managed to wear a sweater on his shoulders._  
_ He looked down at the ivy crown in his hands, picking at the leaves._  
_ He felt some lingering excitement, but he wasn't exactly sure why or what had happened that night to make him so elated._  
_ The men in the front were chatting softly amongst themselves. Every now and then the man in the sweater giggled and the man with the shirt and tie smiled at him._  
_ He stared out the window._  
_ He never saw the dog in the road, he only heard the man with the sweater yell something and then a pit in his stomach told him they weren't quite touching the ground anymore._  
_ There was a loud splash and a thud accompanied by a sickening crack and then the man with the blue tie wasn't moving anymore, his head resting on the steering wheel as the car started to fill up with dirty water. His cracked glasses still sat crooked on his nose._  
_ The other man was in clear panic, trying to unbuckle all their seatbelts, a feat made considerably more difficult by how wildly his hands were shaking. He turned to him, whispering broken reassurances._  
_ He wasn't sure if the streaks on his cheek were tears or just river water anymore._  
_ The man was in complete despair, unable to lift the unconscious driver and to unbuckle his own seatbelt._  
_ It was starting to get cold._  
_ The window in the backseat wasn't open and he knew that if he did open it, he would be submerged in seconds. He glanced at his own seatbelt. It wasn't in, he could've easily opened the window and swam out, but he wasn't just going to leave the other two there when neither of them could move. So instead, he climbed to the front and tried to help the man with his seatbelt._  
_ The poor man was crying hysterically at this point, misunderstanding his movements as an attempt to climb out the window on his own, or perhaps simply wanting him to do just that._  
_ Then there was a click._  
_ The seatbelt!_  
_ The water was at their necks by that point._  
_ The passenger wrapped his arms around the driver and gripped the boy's hand tightly and together they climbed out the front window and into the freezing waters of the river._  
_ Cold._  
_ Cold._  
_ Too cold._  
_ Didn't breathe enough._  
_ Air._  
_ Can't breathe._  
_ It didn't seem so deep from up there._  
_ Why is it so deep._  
_ I can't breathe._

_DAD!_

Virgil only woke up when his upper back slammed on the ground beside his bed. Ow. Ow. Ow.  
That was weird. It was the seventh time.  
He had never, not once, not ever, seen the people in his dreams, yet he felt like he knew them. The floor was cold- <strike>_coldsocoldicantbreathe_</strike>\- and hard, as all decent mansion floors should be.  
Virgil was no stranger to nightmares, but the same, extremely specific nightmare for a week straight? That was just creepy.  
“Um… you Gucci, Virge?”  
Oh no.  
Virgil crawled back up on the bed, too groggy to stand up, and there he was. Remy. With his dumb sunglasses and a scorching cappuccino (wait, no, he had two) in his hands.  
“Sup.” he groaned, falling right back on the bed, “Why are you in my room?”  
“Well,” Remy handed him the coffee, “It’s almost noon and Damien said I should wake you up or suffer the consequences.”  
Virgil gratefully accepted the coffee and downed about a quarter of the scorching hot drink in seconds. Yeah, it burned his tongue, but life is pain. “Kay, so why didn’t dad wake me up himself?”  
“He’s out shopping for groceries and said it’s about time we resumed our sessions.” Remy shrugged. After a quick glance at Virgil’s face he added: “After that we can keep working on your Halloween costume if you want.” in the most annoying, sing-songy voice he’d ever heard.  
Virgil made a conflicted noise. Life coaching sucked. A lot. But he really needed to get to work on that costume if he wanted to have it ready before Christmas. “Fine.” he relented.

The high ceiling in the hall made Virgil extremely uncomfortable. Big empty spaces in general freaked him out, actually. For whatever reason. Actually, scratch that: the entire house had an uncomfortable feel to it. Since he’d woken up from that nightmare, he’d started to jump whenever the floors creaked, whenever the breeze moved a door even slightly, whenever he saw anything remotely unfamiliar in the corner of his eye. Which was just about everything, considering they’d just moved there. Although there was a shape that seemed to appear out of nowhere and disappear just as quickly. And that wasn’t all. Cold spots, humidity, creaking floors upstairs. Freaky.  
Remy didn’t seem to mind at all and no one was surprised. Remy was “chill” and he prided himself on his laid-back attitude. He sat with his legs slung up on the coffee table, sipping his second coffee of the morning (he consumed obscene amounts of coffee), with his sunglasses on (Virgil had never once seen Remy’s eyes), relaxed but never tired (Virgil had never seen him sleep, either). His pupil stared at him from a chair, his purple notebook laying open on the table in front of him. From where Virgil stood, Remy seemed much weirder than himself to him. At least Virgil slept a couple hours a night (well, sometimes less, but at least there was an attempt). Maybe he was just used to his dad’s tendency to fall asleep in the afternoon, but never having seen Remy sleep or even yawn felt very strange to him. He had lived with them for what, five months now? And yet Virgil had never seen him sleep, enter his room at night, make his bed, or anything that had to do with sleeping. He had never even seen Remy’s bed undone, not even at 4AM while Remy was getting himself a coffee and Virgil wanted to check that his life coach wasn’t hiding a corpse under his bed. The tell-tale signs of someone sleeping in the bed were not there at all. Everything about his sleeping habits, if he even had any, was freaky.  
“So,” Remy started, unenthusiatically “have you thought about the positive things in your life?”  
“Would have if I had any, Remlin.” Virgil snarked. _Remlin_ was not a subtle insult at all, but hey, Remy didn’t seem to mind..  
“That’s not a very good attitude, hun.” Remy chirped, sipping his cappuccino once again, “But that’s exactly what we’re here to fix. I asked you to find three good things that happened yesterday, can you do that for me?”  
Now, Virgil may have been sassy, but he didn’t hate Remy or his dad (not completely anyway, at least with his dad’s promise that life coaching days were nearly over), so he had decided to humor them occasionally, even though their ideas were spectacularly ridiculous sometimes. So, he stopped for a moment in genuine reflection.  
“I guess that dinner was kinda nice…” he replied, tentatively: “Is that any good?”  
“It works.”  
“And, uuuuh…” he bit his lip, searching his memory: “maybe that kitten we saw outside?”  
“That’s good girl, I loved that one too.” Remy smiled at the memory.  
“And…” he stopped to think once again. Nothing came to mind. What did keep coming up was his nightmare. The chill in his bones hadn’t left ever since his dream self had fallen in the river for the first time. A suspicion started sneaking its way through his mind.  
“Hey, Remy?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I have a question. It’s...kinda weird.” he admitted.  
“Spill the tea, sis.” Remy took a long sip of his coffee.  
“How did the owners die?”  
Virgil knew the exact moment Remy registered the question because it was also the moment he choked on his coffee. He watched his tutor sputter and cough for maybe ten seconds before he finally regained his composure enough to choke out a “Why do you ask?”.  
He shrugged. “You know me, I have a thing for cool horror stories and this house is probably haunted. It’s a goldmine!”  
“So basically, you’re just curious?” Remy sighed dramatically.  
“Basically, but I really, really wanna know.” Virgil got ready to put on the puppy eyes.  
“I don’t know…” Remy twirled a strand of hair around his finger.  
_Alright, you asked for it. Here come the puppy eyes._  
“Pleeeeeease?” he batted his eyelids, pleading with him.  
Remy looked about ready to crack. Virgil could almost hear the gears turning in his head.  
“Oh, okay.” he finally relented, “But only if you can tell me the third positive thing first.”  
“Deal.” Virgil grinned, “Does deciding to wear my favorite hoodie count?”  
Remy considered the question for a moment. “Yeah.” he finally decided, “Self-care can be wearing clothes that make you feel pretty or comfortable too, so yeah, I guess. Go off, queen.”  
“Perfect!” he clapped, “Now it’s your turn though.”  
“A deal is a deal.” Remy agreed, “How much do you know about the owners?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again :)
> 
> Remy is so difficult to write, I lost my mind over this chapter.
> 
> I'm sorry.  
Comments and feedback are Always appreciated :3  
See ya!  
Next time: Remy spills the tea and Virge makes a friend.


	3. Dead in the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get even creepier and Virgil just wishes his dad was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a reference, props to whoever can catch it :)
> 
> TW: References to car crashes, head injury, drowning, non-descriptive panic attack

“How much do you know about the owners?”

Remy dropped the annoying nicknames immediately.

“I just know they had an accident on their way home from a play. I want details.”

“Okay…” Remy took to pulling loose threads on his shirt to avoid eye contact: “Apparently, they swerved off a bridge and they just...couldn’t get out of the water in time.” He looked unsettled at best.

Virgil felt a chill run up and down his spine. “So they...drowned?”

“Yeah, two of them did.” Remy specified.

“Just two? But… but they all died, right?”

“Oh yeah, they did. But apparently the driver cracked his head against the steering wheel and the coroner ruled that as the cause of death.” He drank the rest of his coffee in silence, then turned back to Virgil: “Uuuuh, Virge? You cool?”

He didn’t answer. The chair crashed on the ground as he stood up and stumbled away. The noise startled him out of whatever excuse he was going to make up and he ran up the stairs on muscle memory alone. Maybe Remy was calling him, but he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own panicked breathing.

He had seen that thing. The whole accident. 

_ You can’t make that shit up. The steering wheel thing _ .

He hit his foot against a corner.

The ivy crown.

_ A theater prop. Just like all the others in the boy’s room. _

He narrowly avoided slamming his side against the doorknob.

The sweater.

_ Same as many others in the parents’ room. _

He fell to his knees stumbling into  <strike> _ the boy’s _ </strike> his room.

The driver’s shirt and tie. _ _

_ Smart and formal. The right side of the closet. There were at least a dozen ties in there. _

He slammed his room’s ( <strike> _ the boy’s room’s _ </strike> ) door shut and quickly locked it behind him. 

“Holy shit.” he wheezed, frantically trying to remember those stupid breathing exercises dad always told him to practice. 4, 7, 8. Probably. He hoped so, at least, or else he was probably going to pass out. It didn't take him more than a few minutes to get his breathing down to a healthy...well, not healthy, but manageable rate.

"This sucks."

_ Hey dad, does this couch make me look dead? _ he’d asked his father when the moving men had brought the sofa in with him still lying on it. He was joking, of course, but not completely. Everything about the house and the whole moving process made him want to curl up under the fluffiest blanket he could find. Luckily there was a big red blanket on his new bed.

He clung onto his pillow. He’d stolen it from the old house when his dad had told him they were moving. It was the pillow his father used to sleep on. It still smelled like him, in fact, but he knew that wouldn’t last long if he hugged it too often, so he’d elected to keep it for emergencies. The only problem was, everything was an emergency from where he stood. Thanks a lot, anxiety.

He put his headphones on, but even the loud music couldn't distract his from the craziness that was his dream/potential haunting. He closed his eyes. That didn't last very long. A chill ran up his spine again, crawling like an angry spider; he breathed in and his lungs filled up with wet air, like steam, but awfully cold; a shadow passed over his closed eyelids. He heard, he felt someone climbing on the bed beside him.

The temptation to just open his eyes was strong, but the paralyzing terror told him to keep them shut tight. His curiosity won out when something cold brushed his cheek for a moment and his eyes opened wide.

He was expecting nothing. Maybe Remy or his dad standing over him, thinking he was asleep. Maybe a spider, or maybe just a tactile hallucination from sleep deprivation. He was not expecting a boy with soft brown hair staring at him from the other side of the bed. The wreath on his head ( _ ivy crown _ ) cast a shadow over his forehead, but his frown was nonetheless very visible. It didn’t last: as soon as he noticed Virgil was staring right at him, it changed into wide-eyed surprise.

And then Virgil screamed. Loudly. The boy, startled, screamed as well, leaning way back over the edge of the bed. Virgil instinctively reached out to grab him before he could hurt himself, but he was too far and was nearly horizontal by that point. Virgil shut his eyes tight, waiting for the inevitable thud he would make falling on the floor. 

One.

Two.

Three seconds.

Not a single sound. 

In fact, the boy hadn’t fallen at all. He was staring at Virgil with wide eyes from the corner… where he was floating about two feet off the ground.

Virgil felt a second scream climb its way up his throat, but before he could act on it, there was a knock on the door. Oh right, the screaming. And his meltdown. Remy must’ve gotten worried.

“Virgil?” came a muffled voice from beyond the door, “You good?”

The squeal that escaped his lips quickly turned into a “Yeah, I’m fine, just playing some, uh… some horror games. Don’t worry.”

“You play that stuff too much, sis…” Remy commented. He walked away.

The floating boy had made no attempts to move. He stared at Virgil curiously. When he spoke, it didn’t sound nearly as creepy or unearthly as he’d expected. He had a pretty voice. “You can see me.” he said.

It wasn’t a question. Virgil answered anyway.

“Um… yeah.”

“You can see me!” the boy repeated, clapping his hands in delight: “And here I thought all breathers were blind.”

“Breathers.” Virgil blinked. “So you’re…”

“Dead, yeah, I thought that was pretty clear.”

“Oh my god.” he let himself fall back on the bed: “I’m hallucinating.”

The boy seemed offended: “Well excuse you.”

“Nono, you can’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Virgil gestured vaguely, “because!!"

"That's not an answer."

The boy twirled around, mostly just to show off his outfit: "An answer would be  _ because ghosts aren't real _ or something like that, but judging by all the conspiracy theories you read that's not a great excuse."

Virgil snapped up: "What? How long have you been watching me?"

"Like, since you came into my room. Or stepped through the front door. Since, ya know. This is my house."

"I wish." he sighed, "Trust me, I'd leave it to you anyday."

"So why don't you?" The boy had now taken to playing with his soft, puffy hair.

Virgil shrugged: "My dad's never gonna believe me. Wait a second…" he stared at the boy: "Was it you I kept seeing out the corner of my eye?"

"Probably." he sat back on the bed, but it didn't cave. He was weightless: "I mean, I'm not the only ghost here, but I-"

"You're not???" 

The boy seemed irritated at being interrupted: "Excuse you, I was talking. No, I'm not the only ghost around here. But I have been following you around the most, so…"

He fiddled with his crown and sighed: “Why? What’s so weird?”

“What’s so weird, you ask?” Virgil steadied his voice after realizing it had already risen one or two octaves: “I’m so out of it that I’m venting to a ghost who was watching me sleep!! That’s what’s weird!”

The boy raised an eyebrow at him: “You and I have a very different opinion on weird.”

Virgil took a deep breath to steady himself for the million dollar question. "Did you send me those dreams?" he finally murmured.

The ghost cocked his head: "What dreams?" he asked in what seemed like genuine confusion, "I have no idea how to do that." 

“Great.” Virgil sighed, “I’m going crazy. I’m actually going crazy.”

“Soooo... “ the boy floated again, upside down this time, just a few inches away from his face: “Virgil Webb, right?”

“God, don’t use my full name.” he complained.

“Okay okay. Fine, Virgie.”

“No one ever calls me  _ Virgie _ .”

“Then I’ll be the first.” the boy picked at the leaves on his ivy crown. 

“Maybe I’ll call you Spooky.” Virgil replied.

“Or you could just call me by my name.” he suggested.

“And that would be…?” he leaned forward, secretly quite interested.

The ghost smiled proudly.

“My name is Roman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY BOY IS HERE!!! *pops confetti*  
Roman and Virgil are an actual delight to write.
> 
> I have this headcanon that Remy speaks normally when he's being serious, because he's baby but I don't like writing him  
Virgil misses his dad :(
> 
> Please comment and give me feedback so I can improve!
> 
> Next time: Friendship, references, and Roman being a theatre kid the way our lord intended.  
Cya ;)


	4. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banter with a ghost is just as weird as it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Several references to death, tiny mention of decapitation and head injury, I guess Prinxiety if you squint.

“Roman?” Virgil cracked a smile. It didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but it was a pretty name.

“The one and lonely!” Roman smiled. 

“Uh…”

“Only. I meant only. Freudian slip. It happens, moving on!” 

“O...okay. I’m talking to a lonely ghost, apparently.”

“I am not lonely, you just see it that way because you act like the embodiment of a dark and stormy night all the time.”

“You have no proof.”

And so the weirdest encounter of Virgil’s life developed into his first ever banter with a ghost.

Roman seemed to mainly speak in theatre references. He occasionally broke out in song during their conversation whenever he heard a reference to music he liked (about every two minutes. He was well-studied). Virgil sometimes recognised them, too. They mostly made small talk about the stuff in their (shared?) room (like Virgil's fairy lights and Roman's posters), so musical theatre came up pretty often. Another thing he noticed about Roman was how he simply couldn’t help accompanying every word he spoke with big, dramatic gestures that Virgil had to duck to avoid occasionally. He also never stopped moving and never touched the ground, floating to the corner and back, to the ceiling, upside down, on his stomach, on his back… 

Last but not least, he had a considerable ego. He sometimes talked about himself in the third person, embellishing his name with very flattering adjectives and very fictional titles. It got annoying quick. Roman didn’t come off as vengeful or evil, though. He just seemed like a drama queen, a melodramatic benign ghost. Despite having a big, very much real sword hanging from his wall, Virgil couldn’t picture him decapitating anyone with it. And Roman just kept on blabbering about Disney and musical theatre and fairy tales. That also got annoying.

Virgil had a thought. "Wait." he said, "If I can see you, does that mean I can touch you?"

Roman's eyes lit up: "That sounds like a theory we should test out." 

He held his hand out.

Virgil tentatively stretched his hand out as well, soon meeting the coldest skin he had ever felt in his entire life. He almost snatched his hand back but opted for a more polite retreat instead.

Roman squealed in delight: "It works!!"

Virgil hissed: “You’re freezing!” 

“I’m dead.” Roman pointed out.

“Fair enough.”

"But you can touch me!! I haven't touched a breat- a living person in months!!"

Virgil chose to ignore the slip-up: "Well, now what?"

"I don't know!" Roman laughed as if ignorance were the most hilarious thing in the world: "Isn't it grand? The possibilities are endless!!"

"You're a creative one, aren't you?" Virgil pushed back a smile.

"I'd say so, yes." The ghost was now floating upside down again, "Just in case my room didn't make that immediately obvious, here's a verbal confirmation."

Virgil chuckled quietly.

"What's so funny?" Roman was now floating flat in the air, directly above him, just close enough to touch him if he stretched his arm out.

"Nothing, just...the first person I actually talked to here and you're...well…"

"Dead."

"Yep."

"That's not very funny…" he floated pensively to the window and sat on the windowsill: "It sounds kinda sad, actually. And I disagree, your tutor looks pretty chill to me."

"His chill is a lie." Virgil deadpanned, "And life coaching is the dumbest thing on this planet."

"Isn't it kinda cool though? Being taught how to live? I mean I feel like a lot of people need that kind of lesson."

"Not from Remy, they don't." he sighed.

"Suit yourself." Roman shrugged, "I think you're not doing so bad, I mean… you're staying in the coolest room in the house. You also stole my dad’s cologne."

Virgil flinched: "Oh. Oh!! I'm so sorry, I didn't think-"

"He said you can keep it."

He blinked: "Your dad is… your dad is here too?"

"Oh yeah." Roman casually swung his legs out the window, turning away from him: "They both are."

Even from behind, Virgil could see his shoulders slumping a bit. Roman went quiet.

Virgil stopped to think for a moment: "Hey, is one of your dads a guy in a uh...blue shirt? With glasses and a grey sweater?"

Roman perked up at that: "Yeah? You mean right now? As in, ya kno...the clothes he died in?"

"Y...yeah."

"Then, yes. Have you seen him already?" Roman was now leaning towards his in genuine interest.

"Not...in person?" Virgil admitted.

"Well, of course not, He's dead too."

"I mean I haven't seen his ghost, either." 

"Then how do you know about the clothes?" Roman scratched his head in confusion.

"I...uh...I had nightmares." Virgil mumbled.

"Oh, yeah. I know."

"I'll elect to ignore the fact that you've been watching me sleep."

"Not always!" Roman raised his hands in defense: "I just overheard you talking to Whats-his-name downstairs."

"Remy."

"Whatever. So you saw my dad in the dreams?"

"Both your dads." Virgil nodded, "And you, sort of. More like… I think I was seeing with your eyes. I remember seeing you fiddle with the crown…" he pointed at the wreath on his head, "...and I remember you wearing those clothes, too, even though I never really saw your face in the dream. Then I remembered that you guys died on the way home from a play and well. I don't think I need to explain how I knew about you being an actor."

Roman seemed satisfied with the explanation: "So you saw the whole thing? From  _ my _ perspective??"

"I think so." Virgil nodded.

"That…" 

"I know, it's sca-"

"Is  _ awesome _ !!!"

"Uh... what?"

He must've misheard him.

"I said it's awesome, JDelightful, and I meant it!"

"Heathers?" 

"You're a man of culture, I see." Roman seemed so proud of himself that Virgil elected not to tell him about his Heathers phase the previous year, or they may never finish that conversation. 

"But why do you say that?" he changed the subject to the one that really interested him.

"Because...you recognise Heathers references?"

Whether he was genuinely confused or just messing with him, Virgil couldn't tell.

"You know what I meant. Why do you think my nightmares were awesome? Does my suffering amuse you?" he added, only half-joking.

"I just think psychic powers are neat." Roman shrugged, "And yes, it does kind of amuse me. Love you~" he added, blowing him a kiss. Virgil swatted the metaphysical kiss away in response. Roman clutched his chest in a really over-the-top  _ I am offended and heartbroken  _ move, accompanied of course by a loud, dramatic gasp.

"I don't know if it's psychic powers, dude." he shrugged, "What I do know is that before the nightmares I couldn't see you and now I can."

"Neat." Roman commented, casually combing his hair with his fingers.

"I mean, I guess it could be worse. You could have been a corpsified ghost."

"Hmmm…" the ghost sat on the bed again, swinging his legs: "I guess. But I don't think I looked this good when I gave up the ghost if you catch my drift."

Virgil nodded pensively: "Can you shapeshift, then?" he asked, sitting up and hugging his knees.

"I wish." Roman sighed. "I guess not even death can defeat my charm."

"So all three of you look normal, then?"

"Well…" he shrugged: "Sort of? I mean, dad has a visible head injury-"

"The driver!!" Virgil exclaimed.

"Yeah, exactly. Guess you saw that part too…" Roman bit his lip, presumably to distract himself from the memory. Virgil didn't comment.

"Do you think I'll be able to see your dads too?" he asked instead.

Roman lit up: "Only one way to find out."

Virgil had never been in the attic. They'd found it locked, no one seemed to have the key, and any attempt at forcing the door open either didn't work or left the tools broken, until eventually his dad had shrugged and told everyone to forget about it. Yet Roman opened the door as easily as a shower curtain. Which implied that he was somehow involved in the impossibility of opening the stupid door.

Roman waltzed in, singing at the top of his lungs: "GREETINGS FATHERS~"

Virgil covered his ears with a glare. Loud sounds were definitely not his cup of tea. he uncovered them, however, when an equally sing-songy, but definitely softer voice answered: "Welcome back, kiddo~"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo the attic is open now, yaaay!!  
Have some mindless fluff because this will get angsty eventually.
> 
> Please comment, I'd love to hear what you think and it encourages me to write more!!
> 
> Next time: The Maitlands are sweethearts, Patton is a dad and so is Logan, Virgil needs affection and Damien is trying.


	5. FamILY (Meet the Parents)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil meets the family, Damien is tired and Logan doesn't get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: ATTENTION I'M PUTTING A BIG TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS HERE, SERIOUSLY, BE SAFE!!!  
Refernces to death and head injury.

Virgil could only see the shoes of the person sitting in the armchair in the corner. They were slightly worn red shoes with a tiny paw pattern on one side. Cute.

Roman flew up to them to give them a kiss on the cheek. Definitely one of the dads, Virgil thought, as he watched him whisper something into his father's ear. The man gasped and immediately stood up to face Virgil and his jaw dropped. If there was any doubt that he'd seen Roman's parents in the nightmare before, it melted away as soon as the man smiled at him. That was the exact same man. No doubt. He had the same smile and the same roundish glasses and the same blue shirt and the same sweater. And Virgil had never been so happy to see someone smile at him, after so many tears. Plus that was the very essence of a father if he'd ever seen it.

So, of course he had to give an appropriate response when the man went up to him to greet him.

"I- uh- hi, m- I mean my name isn't- crap- no that isn't my name, I...what?"

_ Nailed it. _

The man smiled so warmly that Virgil felt his heart melt. That was the kind of smile his dad gave him when he was proud of him and frankly, his heart was too weak for that kind of responsibility. Regardless, he took a deep breath. The man encouraged him to finish with a nod of his head.

"MynameisVirgil." He blurted out after several pitiful attempts.

"Nice to officially meet you, Virgil." The man extended his hand. He wasn't sure if it was because Roman had told him that he was able to touch them, because he was making an assumption he would be, or because of simple force of habit. He took it anyway, and it was just as cold as Roman's. Of course.

"U-um. Sure. Hi." he waved awkwardly, "Mr Maitland, I assume…?"

"Patton is fine." The man- Patton- smiled again.

"Um... okay." Virgil gave an awkward grin, turning to Roman with a big  _ am I doing this right _ printed on his forehead. Roman gave his a thumbs up. "I'm sorry I stole your cologne." he apologized. It was much weirder to think about now that he actually had its owner right in front of him.

"It's okay." Patton smiled patiently: "I can't wear it anyway, so I'm glad someone likes it. Do you like it?"

"O-oh, yeah!" he laughed nervously, "I love it, it...um… it reminds me of my father."

Patton seemed very happy with that answer: "Oh!! Your father has good taste."

"Had." Virgil corrected him on instinct, then immediately regretted it when his smile dropped.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, kiddo! I didn't know…" 

"It's okay." he panicked: "It's completely fine you couldn't have known and I've come to terms with it don't worry I didn't mean anything…" 

Roman interrupted his rambling: "Where's dad?"

"In the study, love." Patton scratched Roman's nape affectionately.

"Is he writing again?" The boy asked, immediately excited.

"He's reading, actually." his father smiled. "Do you want to go see him?"

"Yes!!" Roman squealed and, without waiting for a reply, he zipped into the next room. By walking right through the door.

Virgil suddenly regretted every single decision that had brought him to that point upon realizing that now he was alone with Patton. Aka basically-his-dad-with-glasses. Perfect.

"I, um…" he thought of how to break the ice. Nothing came to mind, so he thought of how to leave. No luck there either.

"I...I should go, I think…" he mumbled in the end. Yes, mumbling was rude, no, he couldn't help it.

"Oh no kiddo, it's alright." Patton sat back down in his armchair and patted the sofa beside him, inviting him to sit down. Which he did, of course, because attempting to leave after that kind of invitation would have been rude, and Virgil was not rude. he noticed that Patton had been sewing... something unidentifiable, which now lay abandoned in his lap.

"So, Virgil…" Patton leaned against one of the arms of his chair so he could face him, "I see you've made friends with my son."

"Um...yeah… I think." he shrunk in the soft, if a little dusty, sofa.

"That's wonderful!" Patton exclaimed: "He was so upset when he thought no one could see him anymore. He's been putting on shows for us every night, you know." he fiddled with the loose threads of his strange anthropomorphic creation, "I help him make the puppets sometimes."

So it was a puppet then. Now that he looked at it more carefully, it should've been obvious.

"Yeah, I can see he's the...um… exuberant type." Virgil commented, sincerely hoping he wouldn't mess up and accidentally piss off an entire family of ghosts. He relaxed a little bit when Patton chuckled: "Oh yeah, he definitely is. You should have seen him on a stage…" he sighed nostalgically, "...he was just so enthusiastic. So happy to have people look at him and listen to him."

"Maybe those days aren't gone." Virgil whispered, more to reassure Patton than to state anything even remotely factual. 

The ghost gave him a sad smile: "I suppose."

Virgil had no idea how Patton had, without ever trying, convinced him to trust him with his life story, but if he had to guess he would have said that it had something to do with the fact that he was 1- a dad, 2- a ghost dad who couldn't tell his secrets if he tried, 3- a ghost dad who couldn't tell his secrets if he tried and always smelled like cookies. He hadn't met the second father (Logan, his husband had called him) yet, because his dad had come home and he didn't want there to be any chance he or Remy would find the haunted attic. A safe space, he decided. For the Maitlands and for him.

One thing that made him happy and at the same time terrified him was just how  _ perfect _ the Maitlands seemed to be. It was surreal. Sure, he had yet to meet Logan, but that hardly mattered when both his husband and his kid acted like actual rays of sunshine. Maybe he was just projecting, though.

So he ran downstairs to greet his dad.

Damien Webb was considerably well-liked due in great part to his innate elegance. Whatever he did, he always did it with such grace that one would have thought him an actor. And he was acting alright, Virgil would argue. Acting like everything was fine.

He would have liked to say that he didn't buy into his act for a moment, but that would've been a lie. He sometimes thought his father really was fine, he really was moving on without him. That was an even worse possibility than him just being bad at coping, somehow.

When he arrived downstairs, he spotted his father sitting on the sofa, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His dad had been terribly stressed ever since they arrived at the house, thanks to bureaucratic procedures, various renovations, being a dad and work. So, Virgil thought, he’d decided to take time out of being a dad. he was constantly running around and, even when he wasn't, he locked himself in his little study or his bedroom and didn't come out for anyone. He still cooked, and thank god for that, because Remy had no idea how to make an omelette without burning down the kitchen and Virgil was...not bad at cooking, but if it had been up to him, he would have just made himself sandwiches or soup every day. So Damien had to be on kitchen duty anyway.

When his dad noticed him, he lifted his head just a little and gave him a tired wave. He looked like he would've drifted off to sleep in no time if not for that pesky headache he was nursing. Virgil sat quietly next to him.

Dad broke the ice: "So, how was life coaching today? Remy said you had a bit of a breakdown." he raised his eyebrows in an obvious  _ this is the part where you explain  _ look.

“Oh, um... “ Virgil twisted the edge of his hoodie, “It was nothing, dad.”

“Of course.”

“Really.”

“No, I believe you.” nodded Dad, definitely not believing him.

“I just wasn’t feeling well.” he lied. Okay, it wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t a complete truth either.

“Virgil.” his father smirked, “You should know better than to lie to me.”

“Get off my back.” he hissed.

Damien flinched slightly. That had come out much, much more aggressive than Virgil had intended. Oops. After a long, awkward silence, Virgil stood up and left without a word. 

Another stellar conversation for the scrapbook. And a terrible time to giggle at references that only happened in his head. Oh well. 

Roman was a no-show the rest of the day and he didn’t really care. Social interaction was terribly draining to Virgil and he definitely needed space after that whole debacle. He sat on the windowsill with his legs swinging out, over about two stories. And this was new house stories, so he was considerably high up. He had overheard his dad telling Remy that he was planning to move his room to ground floor, “so he wouldn’t get any strange ideas”. As if not having a ready window in his room would do anything for his mental health. An admirable effort, but a useless one regardless. Nothing would change the fact that he missed his home, his few good friends, the city he knew, his dad, being a child, being asleep, not wanting to fall asleep forever, wow that escalated quickly. He looked at the ground beneath his feet and wondered for just a moment what it would be like to float. Just like Roman. To not be tethered to the physical plane. It was such a weird thought, but it hadn’t sounded quite as weird since he’d met the Maitlands. Now he knew it was possible. He knew exactly what was waiting for him on the other side and it was… pretty much peaches and cream, compared to what he’d been told. 

“Roman would kill me a second time.” he whispered, chuckling under his breath. Roman clearly had a very different opinion on life and death, but that was because he was...well, him. A diva in his prime whose head was buzzing with ideas all the time. He had so much to give to the world.

Virgil’s reflections were interrupted by a polite knock on the door. Couldn’t be dad, dad just opened the door. Remy, too. Roman just walked right through it (it got awkward sometimes). So who could it be?

“Come in.” he said. The door opened. And his jaw dropped for the second time that day.

The driver stared at him from the doorway, exactly how he remembered him. Well, except for the injury on his forehead, which had been covered with a carefully applied patch, and his cracked glasses which were now perfectly intact somehow. “It’s you.” he breathed.

The man fixed his glasses. The weird comment seemed to fly right over his head: “It is me. What’s your point?” he replied, “It sounds like you recognize me.”

“I do!!” Virgil quickly swung his legs back into the room, stumbling to the man. He immediately inspired respect. 

“My husband told me you saw us in a dream. Is that correct?” 

Straight to the point. he made no attempt at getting comfortable, but gave Virgil an encouraging half-smile.

"It is. Uh... sir." The  _ am I doing this right  _ panic returned.

"My name is Logan." he offered his hand and Virgil got ready for another handshake with a corpse. That was just as weird as it sounded. 

Logan's hand wasn't that cold, surprisingly. Well, it was, but it was nowhere near as cold as Roman's or Patton's. It was more like regular person cold, as if it had been cold on a winter evening and he’d stayed up late at his desk. 

Logan must have seen his surprised expression, because he quickly but politely pulled his hand back and asked him if it was cold. Virgil said no, because by ghost standards he was pretty warm, and he seemed satisfied with the answer. "What exactly did you see in the dream?" Logan asked, politely but firmly, "Do you feel like telling me?"

Virgil nodded quietly. He'd gone over it with Patton already and hey, this guy looked just as trustworthy. 

"Well... I was sitting in the car with you and Patton, just... picking at an ivy crown in my lap."

Logan's expression shifted only slightly, but he nodded his to continue.

"You guys were talking and I was just... looking out the window. Then Patton yelled something and then we were in the river and you…" Virgil paused, unable to repeat the accident with the victim standing two feet away from him. Logan nodded again, seemingly completing the phrase on his own: "But you didn't see Roman, right?"

"I didn't see him, because I  _ was _ him." Virgil pointed out, "I can't say I saw myself in the mirror but I did look down and see the exact same clothes that Roman's wearing. And the same crown. Plus the same jewelry, etc…"

"Mh." Logan seemed to be making calculations or at least taking mental note of what he was saying. Hopefully, he had an explanation for that… whole, strange thing. he fixed his glasses again. He came off as pensive and scholarly, and way more grounded than him despite the fact that he could float if he wanted to. 

"I see." he finally said, "Thank you for explaining this again."

"No problem." Virgil had no idea how else to reply. He hurried to ask: "So have you figured anything out?"

"Not yet." Logan admitted, "But I promise I'll work on it.

"Oh." he didn't know what he'd expected. Logan was definitely smart, but not omniscient, he couldn't have all the answers ready within two minutes of thinking about them. 

There was one more thing Virgil wanted to tell him, though.

"Hey, um… I'm sorry I read through your stuff." he apologized. It felt even weirder than stealing the perfume.

"It's not an issue." Logan reassured him, "I'd been meaning to have some of those test-read."

"Really?" Virgil brightened up instantly at the possibility of being useful.

Logan nodded.

He was about to say something, when a voice called Virgil down for dinner.

"Ugh, dad." he huffed.

"You should go." Logan fixed his glasses again, "It's good to keep a schedule for meals and I will be around at literally any time you wish to speak. We can talk about this another time."

"Yeah… so um... I'll...see you around?"

Logan smiled: "Certainly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh bOy.   
I'm so sorry about this entire thing.
> 
> Damien is doing his best I swear.  
Local family of ghosts are sweethearts: local gothy teen is suspicious.
> 
> Writing the suicidal thoughts was not easy, but unfortunately it's a pretty substantial part of Lydia's character so it couldn't be helped.
> 
> As always, comments help me greatly!!!  
Please let me know what you think, it really does encourage me to write more.
> 
> Next time: Bonding with your ghost buddy can end in angst sometimes, local fathers are worried.


	6. Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is tired.  
Angst ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Angst and crying, emotional pain.

The house started to feel a bit better after he befriended the Maitlands. Sure, there were still cold spots and puddles everywhere, but they started to feel almost familiar. Roman followed him around sometimes, but never beyond the limits of their garden. 

Once, while Virgil was walking out to follow a fox trail, he asked him why.

“I can’t go any further.” he replied.

“Why not?” Virgil walked back into the garden. 

“I just can’t.” Roman shrugged. “Last time I tried I ended up in some sandy, snakey alternate dimension or something.”

“That’s weird.” he sat on the fence, “Can your parents leave the garden?”

“They can’t even walk off the porch.” the ghost huffed, “Apparently I have a bit more freedom, but we have no idea why. Dad says there must be some kind of bureaucracy at work here. Rules and regulations and such.”

“You mean Logan’s been researching all this.”

“Obviously. That’s what he does.” Roman floated on his back. His feet had barely touched the ground since Virgil had met him.

“Well, has he found anything?” 

He twisted the bottom of his hoodie.

“Not much.” Roman admitted, “He does think that there might have been a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“Yeah. Dad thinks there is a definite rule system here, because people don’t usually see ghosts, right? So far, so good. But there seem to be a lot of rules. For example, we can move objects, but we can’t be noticed by people at all. They can’t see, hear or touch us and we can’t leave either. That sounds like something that should be explained.”

“It does.”

“Well, no one explained. And we never saw any other ghosts, either.”

“That’s weird…” Virgil bit his lip, thinking. The sun was going down. He’d have to go back inside soon, he wasn’t allowed to stay out after dark.

“I know, right? I mean, this house is old. You’d think it would be full of ghosts.” Roman was now floating upside down.

“I haven’t seen anyone else.” Virgil nodded, “So it’s not just ghosts being unable to see each other.”

“That’s exactly what dad said. You were an unexpected help.”

_ You have no idea how happy that makes me. _

“You’re welcome.” he gave him a shy smile, looking up at the house. He could see Patton dusting the windowsill. The man waved at them from the attic and they waved back. An oil lamp hung above Patton’s head, bathing the attic in a warm light.

“Hey, Roman?” Virgil jumped down from the fence and sat on the grass instead, hugging his knees.

“Yeah?” Roman didn’t sit on the ground, because he never did. He sat in mid air instead, right in front of Virgil.

“Can I tell you a… well, it’s an important thing. But not of the nice kind.”

“Well go on, spill the beans!” Roman huffed. He wasn’t known for patience: “It’s like a band-aid, you just gotta…” he made a dramatic gesture with his hand, “...rip it off!”

“Okay…” the boy nodded, “You’re not gonna be mad at me?”

Roman frowned: “You’re starting to worry me.”

“I know, just… please don’t be mad?”

“No promises.”

“Not good enough.” Virgil bit his lip again, a little harder this time.

“Stop biting.” Roman’s freezing hand pinched his cheek and he pulled back with a hiss.

“Stop touching me. You’re about as pleasant as an ice sculpture to the touch.” he replied.

“Okay fine, just shoot!” the ghost groaned: "My vastly superior self does not do well with curiosity.”

“You still gotta promise something first, Princey.” Virgil remarked.

“Fine. I promise I won’t be mad at you.” Roman sighed, defeated, “Now tell me.”

“Okay…” 

Virgil turned away from him, searching for the right words to say. He was bad at words. Absolutely terrible. What choice of words would convince Roman not to take it personally and at the same time hide the fact that this was what he’d been losing sleep over?

In the end, he just opted to go straight to the point. Or tried to. His mouth opened and closed continuously, as he spouted more and more nonsensical gibberish. Roman looked increasingly annoyed.

“Just tell me!” he exclaimed.

**“I want out!!”**

Everything seemed to freeze as soon as the words left Virgil’s mouth. He instantly regretted opening up and every moment that had led up to it. He expected an explosive reaction from Roman. One of his dramatic spiels. The little “What?” he whispered was so much worse than that.

Virgil gulped: “I want out.” he repeated, “I wanna go back home.”

“But you are home!” Roman had sat on the ground. That made things even worse.

“No, not this house. This is your home. Mine’s back in Florida.” He felt guilty for waiting so long to say that. 

Roman didn’t answer, so he added: “I just… I can’t make new friends here. At school. Or anywhere outside the garden. I mean, you can’t follow me everywhere! As soon as I set foot outside, I’m alone. I am utterly alone.”

He rested his head on his knees and shut his eyes. The cat was officially out of the bag and Roman had taken it even worse than he’d thought. Perfect. He’d never wanted to disappear more.

He didn’t know how long he stayed in that position for. All he knew is that when he finally raised his head, Roman was gone, the sun was down, and the attic was dark. 

Virgil felt his throat burning. “I messed up.” he whined, grabbing at his hair. “I messed up!”

He started frantically rubbing his scalp. It started to hurt at one point, but when had that ever stopped him? He had to go back in. Take it back, apologize to Roman, hope he didn’t hold it against him and never speak of it again. Yeah. 

He stood on shaking legs. Walking back in, he heard voices coming from the kitchen.

Of course, he wasn’t supposed to listen in.

Of course, he didn’t care.

He stood quietly behind the door.

“...figured out what’s wrong with him?” 

Sounded like Dad.

“Not yet. I mean, I’m sure there’s some homesickness mixed up in there, but I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”

Remy. What a snitch.

“I don’t get it, what are we doing wrong here? I tried to talk to him and he shut me off and left!”

“I know, Damien, but he’s fifteen and grieving, I don’t know what you were expecting.”

Virgil smirked. Remy always sounded so different when he was serious.

His dad sighed.

“I don’t know what I was expecting, either. I was hoping he’d be over it by now.”

He’d heard enough. Virgil quietly snuck past the kitchen and walked slowly up the stairs. His room (Roman’s room) was dark and quiet. No trace of Roman.

He sank into his mattress, staring at the ceiling and wishing his bed would just swallow him whole. When he heard footsteps outside, he didn’t move. When his dad knocked to call him down for dinner, he pretended to be asleep. When his dad left, he actually fell asleep.

A knock on the door woke him up at midnight exactly. He didn’t speak.

That is, until he heard who it was.

“Hey, kiddo. Are you awake?”

He sat up and stumbled off the bed, falling to his knees next to the door.

“Is everything alright?” Patton poked his head through the door. As in, right through the wood of the door, as if it didn't exist.

Virgil stood quickly to face him: “Patton! I’m so- I’m sorry, I…”

Patton raised a hand in a  _ hold on _ gesture: “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

The boy sighed: “I’m sorry for what I… what I told Roman. I didn’t mean any of it- please, please will you tell him that I’m sorry?”

The ghost looked at him, waiting for him to finish.

“Virgil,” he ruffled his hair a bit, “why are you apologizing?”

He stared at Patton. “Be...cause I messed up and now he’s mad at me?”

Patton sighed, sitting on the chair in the corner: “He’s not mad, he’s just...processing. I talked to him.”

“But he was mad.” Virgil paced back and forth.

“No! I mean, not really.” he scratched the back of his neck: “He just wasn’t expecting that. It caught him off-guard.”

“Patton, let’s just admit I’m in the wrong here. Can we do that?” 

At that, Patton sprang up from the chair: “No!! No, we can’t do that, because it’s not true!!!” 

He sat back down when Virgil flinched and added: “Virgil, he’s a sensitive kid, but he understands loneliness.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have told him. It’s not gonna do me OR him any good, because Dad’s never letting us go back to Florida anyway, so basically all I’ve done is make things awkward with the only friend I have here!” he gestured widely with his arms in frustration.

Patton once again let him finish. “Virgil.” he said, “This sounds like something we should talk about. Would you like to take a walk?”

“A walk?” he blinked, “I guess?”

“I mean, I can’t go any further than the porch, but…” Patton shrugged, “What am I gonna do, right?” He smiled so brightly.

_ Has anyone ever told you that you’re an actual ray of sunshine? _

“Yeah…”

A few minutes later, they were sitting quietly on the porch. The air was chilly; the last remnants of summer were fading away, leaving room for biting cold weather in their wake. Virgil didn't mind. It was so nice to just sit outside for a moment. Patton was right, the night air really did clear his mind. The aforementioned ghost was humming an old song, sitting back on the bench with his eyes closed.

"This is nice." Virgil commented.

"It is, isn't it?" Patton smiled, "I always liked the porch. You can see the whole town from here and it just does wonders for your mood, doesn't it?"

"I do feel a bit better."

"See?"

"But, Patton…" he took a deep breath, "I still don't get it. What do you want to discuss?"

"Well, we could start with how we can convince your dad to listen to you." 

That caught him off-guard. He wasn't expecting Patton to just up and offer help kicking his dad out.

"What?"

"Virgil…" he opened his eyes, staring at the stars, "I'll admit that we are... not entirely comfortable with two living people who can't interact with us at all living in our house. Logan and I have discussed it and...I mean, we had even tried to scare you guys away the first week or so." Patton giggled in embarrassment, "But none of it worked, because you couldn't see or hear us. That's when we met you. And at that point, we stopped trying, because you're such a nice kid and we like having you around."

He paused, contemplating what he was about to say: "Virgil, we love having you around, but if you feel that you would be happier back in Florida, you've got our help."

Virgil stared at him with wide eyes: "Really? You guys would help me?"

"Absolutely." Patton nodded, "All three of us."

The boy's surprised expression turned to a smirk: "In that case, are you up for a little scare?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry.  
I promise Remus is coming soon, but if you know the musical, you know there's some mud to cross before then.
> 
> Comments really help me write!!!
> 
> Next time: Two scenes I really didn't want to write and so much angst.


	7. Invisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't want to write this.  
This family has never been so broken before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Unhealthy coping mechanisms (no alcohol dw), gore (he's fine I promise), Patton failing to be scary, nondescriptive anxiety attack, and SUICIDE ATTEMPT!!! (kinda)

Damien’s room was all the way across the hall from Virgil’s. He and Remy had taken up one of the guest rooms each, since Virgil insisted he wasn’t going to have anyone in the same room for a while. And he wasn’t!! It had been less than seven months since his husband’s death. Virgil was sometimes concerned when he stayed out even a few minutes longer than he’d anticipated, but at least he wasn’t bringing anyone home. Dad didn’t like talking about relationships at all, particularly his marriage. He never brought up Virgil’s dad, for one. His name was forbidden. Virgil didn’t say his name, obviously, because his dad had always just been Dad and that was never going to change, but it still disturbed him how everything regarding him was strictly forbidden.

Virgil shifted his weight from one foot to the other, like an athlete preparing for a race.

Patton stretched his arms with an excited squeak: “I’m really not the scaring type, but I do love a good prank.”

"Good." Virgil nodded, "I'm gonna need you to look as scary as possible."

"Oh, I can do scary!!" the ghost laughed, looking about as threatening as a unicorn cupcake.

Virgil stared him up and down.

"Well, whatever happens, I appreciate the attempt." 

"Thanks kiddo. Now let's go scare your dad!"

The boy took a deep breath and stretched his arms: “This is gonna get loud.”

“Hopefully!” Patton laughed.

Virgil took a deep breath and did his best terrified scream.

Running up to the door, he could hear the thud of someone falling out of the bed. Now  _ that  _ brought a smile to his face.

“ **Dad!!** ” he screamed: “ **Dad!!!** ”

He slammed the door open. His dad looked more nervous than groggy as he stood up from beside the bed, only to almost fall back down when Virgil ran to hide behind him: “Virgil, what the-?”

“Dad, there are ghosts here!! They’re chasing me!!  **They’re chasing me!!!** ”

“What?? What are you talking about?” The poor man looked around for any clue on why his kid was acting so goddamn weird.

_ Oh this is getting fun. _

Virgil looked up at Patton. He had to give him credit where credit was due: he had somehow managed to remove his eyes and detach his limbs and was slowly floating towards them. The edges were very clean and it looked slightly cartoonish, but still absolutely terrifying.

“Right there!!” He insisted, tugging at his dad’s sleeve and pointing at his friend.

Dad was having none of it: “Virgil, there’s nothing there.” he sighed, “Did you get sleep paralysis again? Do we need to see the doctor?”

This wasn’t working as planned. Virgil looked at Patton, who had stopped in the middle of the room and flicked his eyes back into their sockets. The ghost shrugged in defeat.

_ Try making scary sounds _ he mouthed. Patton started screeching and howling, to no avail. 

“Virgil?” 

Dad tapped his foot impatiently, turning around to stand in front of Virgil: “I hope you have an explanation for this.”

Before he could answer, Patton slammed the door closed with all his might and then gasped loudly. Dad turned around with an unmistakable panic in his eyes and Virgil peeked behind him to see… Remy. 

It wouldn’t have been quite as compromising if not for the fact that he was standing behind the door of his dad’s room, very clearly hiding from Virgil, and he was in his sleepwear. Patton looked just as confused as Remy, who was looking around for the reason the door had slammed with an increasing urgency to just  _ leave _ .

Dad, on his part, looked like he was moments away from dropping dead.

“Dad?” Virgil asked, finally breaking the silence: “Why is Remy in your room?”

“We were talking.” Dad quickly put a hand on his back to lead him out of the room. Virgil shrugged it off.

“Damien, tell him the truth.” Remy crossed his arms. Only then did Virgil notice something he really,  _ really _ didn’t like. He walked over to his tutor and pried his left hand away from his chest. Remy didn’t resist.

“That  _ was _ the truth.” Damien gulped.

“The  _ whole  _ truth.” Remy insisted.

“Dad!!” Virgil turned around, holding Remy’s wrist maybe a little too forcefully: “Why does he have Dad’s ring??”

“What?? What do you mean  _ Dad’s _ ring?” his coach looked just as surprised as him.

Virgil ignored him: “Why does he have this, dad???”

His dad looked like he had swallowed glass, as he always did when he was forced to reveal an even slightly uncomfortable truth. Remy took off his sunglasses for the first time since Virgil had met him for the specific purpose of glaring him down. Eventually, he cracked.

“I… I asked Remy… to marry me.” he forced out.

Virgil’s legs trembled, so much that he had to grip the wall for support. The familiar tightness in his chest clearly signalled an incoming anxiety attack.

“What?” he whispered, praying he’d misheard him. He couldn’t do that!! It had only been little more than half a year. He couldn’t get married again so soon. What was he thinking??

Remy looked guilty, as he should. He had no business trying to be nice to him after that. Suddenly, Virgil wanted nothing more than to kick him out of the house, possibly through the window. Or the roof, that worked too.

Patton, who had been standing off to the side until that moment, walked up to Virgil, gently grabbing his shoulders: “Hey, kiddo. Remember to breathe, okay? You’re a strong boy, you’ll get through this, but first you have to calm down.”

He didn’t want to calm down. He wanted to scream in his dad’s face, tell him what he thought of this blasphemy, but nothing was coming out. Only the strangled whimper of someone who clearly couldn’t breathe right. Patton rubbed his shoulders, trying to provide some kind of comfort. And it was working, too. Until Remy’s hands passed right through him to hold Virgil’s, and then his breathing got even worse just by looking at Patton’s surprised and slightly heartbroken face. He had a feeling Patton forgot he was dead sometimes.

Remy was trying to tell him something, but all he could see was the ring on his finger. It felt horribly misplaced there. It wasn’t supposed to be there! It just wasn’t!

“Virgil.” His voice finally came through, loud and clear. The boy looked up at him with dead, tear-filled eyes. Remy furrowed his brow: “Are you okay?”

Virgil ripped his hands out of his grip. “I wish I was dead.” He stared into his eyes as he gave his final statement, before running out of the room. He could see Patton dragging himself to the attic with his shoulders slumped as he left.

_ “Damien, maybe we shouldn’t…” _

_ “Leave him be. He needs some time.” _

The night air that had been so pleasant just minutes before bit into the skin of his trembling hands, nearly ripping away the paper he had been clutching. He read the note over and over and over again, as if it would give him answers. 

“I am utterly alone. By the time you read this…” he choked out, spelling his feelings out for the wind that blew from behind him, as if it wanted to be the one to give him that final, gentle push that would send him flying. 

“I…” he continued, trying to decipher his own writing through the blur of his tears and the darkness, “...Virgil Webb, will be gone.” 

The words felt almost foreign in his mouth, as if he hadn’t been the one to write them.

“There’s nothing for me here.”

The wind whispered in his ear. 

“I’m alone.” 

Something clicked behind him; he did not find it in himself to care. 

“_Forsaken_.” 

A sob climbed its way up his throat. 

“ ** _Invisible_ ** .”

A voice rang out beside him: “That makes two of us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I already said that writing this was painful?  
Remy is nice, you can fight me on that. You can pry soft boi Remy out of my cold dead hands.  
I'm sorry for making everyone sad :(
> 
> On a more positive note, my absolute favourite character to write has finally entered the picture!!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Please comment what you think!! :)
> 
> Next time: Local trash goblin man tries to con sad kiddo.


	8. Say my Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil decides he was lucky to find the Maitlands and not the other spirit of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, guys, gals and non-binary pals.
> 
> TW: This chapter has Bastard Man in it. More specific TW: Suicide attempt, near strangulation, suicide talk (not the therapeutic kind), disturbing trivia (if I have to suffer so do you)

"That makes two of us."

Virgil flinched. Standing beside him was a guy who looked like he'd just finished performing as Hamlet. His sleeves were ridiculously frilly, his trousers were ridiculously puffy and his mustache was ridiculously…ridiculous. His eyes were sunken in and a single strand of his hair was white. Virgil decided right there and then that he was not going to question any of it.

He did have one question, though.

"Who the hell are you?" 

He took a step back.

The stranger took a step forward with sparkling eyes: "Can you... see me??"

That was almost exactly like his first encounter with Roman. Which meant there was only one thing this guy could be.

"Uh...yeah?" he replied, a suspicion forming in his mind.

"You can see me!!" The guy squealed in delight, bouncing up and down like a little kid.

Before Virgil could react, the stranger had wrapped him in the most constricting, smothering hug he had ever been in, screeching something along the lines of: " ** _I'm gonna have a new best frieeeeeend!!!_ ** " 

_ I must be hallucinating. No one sings like that _ , Virgil thought, trying to pry the guy's arms off his neck. He didn't think he intended to strangle him, but the unfortunate reality was that he couldn't breathe and the guy probably didn't need to. So there he was, squirming like an eel in the dude’s grip. That was not what he thought his day would be like.

"Are you- another ghost?" he choked out, still trying to release his iron grip.

"Amazing deduction, Sherlock Woelmes!!" 

Just when Virgil was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, the guy finally let him go. As he gasped and wheezed, he made a mental note never to take air for granted again. The weirdo was floating, which definitely confirmed his theory, and only made him want to leave more. He may have gotten lucky with the Maitlands. Maybe not all ghosts were that friendly.

"Look, I know we just met…" the guy floated up to stand on the upper part of the roof: "...but I think we're pals, and I need a favour."

That did not sound good.

"What do you want? I'm busy." Virgil stepped closer to the edge of the roof and looked down. It looked so much higher from up there than it did from the ground.

"I don't call that being busy, I call that being stupid." the ghost commented: "I mean seriously, what good will that do?"

Virgil kept staring at the ground below, barely visible in the darkness. It felt like standing at the edge of an abyss. It was both comforting and terrifying. "When I'm dead, he'll wish he listened to me." he replied, bending his legs like an athlete ready to sprint.

"So you're gonna kill yourself to prove a point?" The spirit laughed, a loud and unpleasant cackle: "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!!"

"You know…" Virgil turned around, deciding he'd probably jump off quicker if he just didn't look at the big empty, "If you're just gonna stand there and insult me, that's just one more reason to add to the list."

The spirit jumped off the upper roof: "Hey, hey, I was kidding!! Jeez, some people…" he shook his head. His poofy hair bounced left and right. "What I'm trying to say is, I really don't recommend suicide. Terrible hassle."

"Why, are you gonna tell me your heartwrenching story about how you killed yourself and now you can't leave this house?" Virgil mocked. It was all so cliché.

"Oh, that's not why I can't leave." the ghost shrugged, "But believe me, you don't wanna do that. A friend of mine did that and she got stuck in the client assistance department. Ugh."

He looked absolutely disgusted by the idea of having to actually work.

"Very convincing." Virgil commented.

"Thanks, I am very good at persuading people. Particularly persuading them to leave." The ghost inched closer, "If you catch my drift."

"Uh...I don't." Virgil decided he wanted nothing to do with this guy for as long as he could avoid him.

"I thought you wanted to leave." He was now floating on his stomach, holding his chin up with his hands like a little girl in a candy commercial.

"I do want to leave. This life." 

He tried to take another running start, but the ghost stepped in front of him: "Yeah, like I said, terrible idea. And terribly edgy. That won't get your dad and his dinner guests to run and never look back. See, what you should do is hire someone who knows how to properly haunt a house."

"And that would be you?"

"Why yes, you emo nightmare."

"Oh my god, stop giving me nicknames." Virgil groaned. It was way too much like Roman, and he did  _ not _ want to think about Roman and how utterly  _ pissed _ he would be when he found an extra teenage ghost in the house, thank you very much. Man, he would kill him a second time. He took a tiny step back from the edge, which the spirit interpreted as a  _ please tell me more, o creepy stranger _ .

"Yeah, so, I'm a bioexorcist. Pretty cool right?"

"Please stop talking."

"I know right? It's great. Basically I scare people out of this house for a living. Or... dying. Or whatever you wanna call it, I don't judge. I’m an expert in making people uncomfortable. Hey, did you know that you swallow around 5 insects a year while slee-"

“Okay, that’s enough, thank you.” Virgil interrupted, "Look, uuuuh…" he suddenly remembered that this guy had never introduced himself.

"Oh, I can't say my name." the ghost shrugged, "You can try to guess it if you want."

"Ya know, I really don't." 

"So you don't wanna get out of this house?"

"I do. I just don't need a bioexorcist or whatever you wanna call it. And you said you do this for a living but...what are you even being paid?" Virgil tried to conceal the genuine curiosity he was starting to feel.

"Freedom." the ghost replied. "I wanna get out of here too."

"So why haven't you?" Virgil stepped away from the edge.

"No one's been able to free me. You would be a good candidate, but…" he sighed, "I guess you don't wanna help me either."

His attempt at a guilt trip couldn't be more obvious, but Virgil started to wonder if maybe this guy was just as tired as he was. He looked the spirit up and down and asked him: "What if I did wanna help? What would I have to do then?"

The ghost lit up: "Oh, that would be very simple.” 

Virgil started to regret ever throwing him a bone when the spirit gave him a devilish grin. Maybe he just shouldn’t talk to him again. Ever. Yeah, that sounded great.

“Okay, so what is it?” he asked, eager to get this conversation over with. The ghost finally put his feet down.

The toothy grin on his face grew wider.

“All you gotta do is say my name.”

Virgil was taken aback: “Say your name. That’s it?”

“Yeah!! Told you it was simple.” the ghost grinned, “You only have to say it three times and boom!” he made a dramatic gesture that resembled an explosion.

“But I don’t know your name.” Virgil pointed out.

“Well, I can’t say it.” the ghost pouted.

“How about…” he bit his lip, “...a game of charades?”

The spirit seemed to like that idea: “Oooh, yes!! Let’s play it!!”

Immediately, he lifted his right hand to signal: two.

“Two words?” Virgil tried. He hadn’t played charades in a while, admittedly. On second thought, he could have just asked the ghost to write it. On third thought, he wasn’t sure why he was even interested in learning the spirit’s name. “Two words.” he repeated, nodding.

“Uh-huh.”

The ghost brought his arm up, holding something invisible to his mouth.

“Drink?” Virgil guessed.

“No.”

“Beverage?”

“No.”

“Wine?”

“No!”

He bit his lip. Maybe… “Juice?” he tried.

“Yes!!” Something-Juice clapped his hands enthusiastically. He brought up his left arm: one.

“Okay, first word...” Virgil nodded.

“Right.” the ghost put his right hand over his right forearm, mimicking a crawling creature.

“Bug?” Bug Juice? That sounded weird.

“No.”

Whats-his-name put both his hands in front of his mouth to signal an insect’s mandibles.

“Ant?” Ant Juice sounded even weirder.

“Close, but no.”

An idea finally surfaced: “Beetle?”

“Yes!!!” the ghost looked very happy, despite his stupid name.

“Beetlejuice. Your name’s Beetlejuice?” Virgil smiled. It was a hilarious name.

“My middle name.” Beetlejuice specified: “My first name’s Remus.”

“Uh-huh. But it’s your middle name that summons you?”

“Yep!!” Remus smirked.

“And you’re telling me I only have to say it three times?”

“Three times in a row, it must be spoken unbroken.”

Virgil scoffed: “Wow, you have a lot of rules.”

Remus grinned: “Quite the opposite. I pretty much do whatever I want.”

“And what do you want?”

“Oh, you know.” he shrugged: “Wreak some havoc, leave town, go on vacation… I’m a simple spirit.”

“That’s fair.” Virgil nodded.

“So, we got a deal?” Remus’s smile was something else, a wide and maniacal grin. There was a spark of insanity in his eyes that Virgil didn’t trust at all. But hey, what could go wrong?

“Uh-huh.”

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, go!!”

Virgil smirked: “Beetlejuice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY HE'S HERE
> 
> I couldn't wait to post this after all of your excited comments (keep 'em coming, they are my biggest source of motivation to keep writing), but HERE HE IS  
Fashionably late, of course.
> 
> I literally looked up "disturbing trivia" on google for some of Remus's dialogue, oof.  
Virgil needs a hug (he'll get it, I promise)
> 
> I only have a few more chapters for this fic, as it's only the first act, but fear not!! The first chapter of the second part will be published on October 31, so I can take about a week to get ahead with the writing schedule.
> 
> Please let me know if Remusjuice is living up to the expectations, comments and feedback motivate me a lot!!
> 
> Next time: The Maitlands are all mama bears.


	9. (Enter Beetlejuice, pursued by three ghosts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there is hope for Virgil after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: More suicide talk, more Bastard Man, dorks, possession, swearing, cartoonish injury???

Remus was floating over the edge: “Yeees?”

“Beetlejuice.”

“Yeeeeesss?” He was floating upside down now.

Virgil scratched his chin as if lost in thought: “Say, Remus…”

The spirit groaned in obvious annoyance: “What?”

The boy grinned: “Did you really think I’d be that dumb?”

Remus blinked: “Yeah, sort of. Why?”

“I mean, your whole spiel just screams  _ NUMBER 1 ON THE LIST OF 10 PARANORMAL GAMES YOU SHOULDN’T PLAY. _ I don’t mess with that stuff.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.” Remus laughed, “You’re tougher than you look, kid. You looked like a baby snake in terms of intelligence.”

“Weird analogy, but yeah, okay.” He shrugged: "Just wanna make sure I know who I'm working with. You got a CV?" He mocked, "Any references?"

The window to the roof creaked open: "Virgil, there you are!!" 

Patton looked incredibly relieved, but only in the split second before he spotted Remus standing next to him.

"We've been looking for you." Logan stated, wasting no time in walking towards them.

"Hi Pattycake, hi Logibear, how's death treating you?" Remus grinned, resting his elbow on Virgil's head (very uncomfortable). Logan, ever the peacekeeper, did not like that. He gently pulled Virgil away from him (and from the edge of the roof). "Don't touch him." He said. He could've been talking to either of them, really: "Virgil, this is a dangerously unstable individual. Don't-"

Suddenly, his back straightened up and a wide grin formed on his face. "Nevermind." he said, "I mistook him for someone else. Beetlejuice is sexy."

"Beetlejuice is smart!" Patton chimed in, with the same wide grin and stiff movements.

"BJ is a graduate of Juilliard!!" they chirped in perfect sync.

_ Okay,  _ ** _now_ ** _ I'm scared. _

He took a step back

There was something incredibly wrong with that sight. They didn't look like people anymore. They looked like human marionettes, moving like they had strings attached to their limbs and hooks stretching their mouth from ear to ear.

"He can help you!" Logan stated, a whole octave above his normal tone of voice.

"Yes!! He helped us too!!" Patton was practically singing. Virgil took another step back.

"Uh, y-you know what? I think I'm good." he backed away more and more, until the floor gave way beneath his feet. Oh right. He was on _ the edge of a goddamn roof _ !!

His feet were right above the dark abyss. So why wasn’t he falling?

He craned his neck as far back as it would go. Remus waved at him with his usual shit-eating grin: “Are you done? ‘Cause I just showed you a couple of five-star reviews. Soooo…”

Virgil stepped back onto the roof as if the big empty below had never existed (creepy): “Yeah, about that…  **what ** is that??” he yelled, pointing at the human marionettes in front of him, “What the hell?”

“Oh, that?” Remus snapped his fingers and the ghosts gasped like they actually needed air.

“What the heck was that?” Patton clutched his chest in clear discomfort.

“I’d rather not think about it.” replied Logan, immediately recomposing himself and fixing his glasses.

“That…” Remus pointed at them, “...was possession.”

“Possession.” Virgil repeated, “Must be a tough trick, coming from the great Bugextract himself.”

“No, not really.” the demon shrugged, “It sounds so much more exciting than it is. Any ghost could do that in less than one lesson.”

Virgil perked up: “Any ghost?”

“Eh, pretty much, any ghost will do, sure.” Remus twirled his mustache nonchalantly.

“Then, Beetlejuice…” Virgil stood between the Maitlands with a smug grin on his face: “What do I need you for?”

Now  _ that  _ got Remus to stop smiling.

A tinkling laugh rang out from behind Virgil. 

_ Roman and his perfect timing. _

“Okay, okay, hold up kid.” the demon raised his hands: “Hold up. We’re pals, aren’t we? I mean look at these dorks!”

Roman blew raspberry.

Remus ignored him: “Which means whale penises, by the way.”

That got Roman to stop smiling.

Beetlejuice continued: “They’re sweethearts. Tiny rays of sunshine. Unicorn cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles. You want a job done right, you call a demon. I can gut your dinner guests like fish."

"I don't need anyone to die." Virgil shrugged, "I just need them to leave the house to its true owners."

"Yeah!!" Roman chimed in, "Scram, Wormwine. We don't need you to kick out annoying breathers."

Virgil gave him a look.

"Not that all breathers are terribly annoying, of course." He corrected himself, "Although they toe the line sometimes."

"Roman!!" Patton warned.

"Sorry, dad."

Virgil turned back to Remus: "So, go do something else. Whatever it is you've been doing in here for god knows how long."

"Painting with blood, mostly. Did you know that blood runs kinda like watercolor on paper?"

"What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain." Roman commented.

"Not the right time for references, Princey."

"It's always the right time for references!"

Remus stared at their bickering as his tiny sick brain tried to process the fact that Virgil did indeed have better things to do than listen to his rambling. That didn't stop him: "Come on, Virge. I know I went a little hard on the sell…" he admitted, "...but we're BFFFs forever, aren't w-"

He never finished that sentence. With a small push, Virgil had sent him flying down the side of the house. There was a distorted, demonic scream and a sickeningly cartoonish splat as he landed.

"Virgil!!" the Maitlands all scolded him in unison.

"What?" he shrugged, "He was already dead!!"

"Eh, fair enough." conceded Roman.

"That's not how it works-" Patton tried to object, but Virgil interrupted him: "You heard what he said, right? Any ghost can do that possession stuff. We don't need that demon!!"

The boy raised his arms to the night sky that had almost seen his death, smiling wide: "We can ruin dad’s evening on our own. Tomorrow night, we're going to have dinner guests. Very  _ important _ dinner guests." 

"So what are you suggesting?" Logan asked. Virgil couldn't tell if he was into this plan or not.

He looked down to where Remus had fallen, but couldn't see anything in the dark void below: "I'm suggesting we raise a little hell. So he wants a perfect, happy kid? Fine by me. Roman?"

Roman turned to him, eagerly: "Yes?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this…" Virgil muttered. "I'm gonna need your help." 

Saying that Roman had a large wardrobe would have been a great understatement. His closet took up half the dressing room and was full of costumes from so many different plays that Virgil was sure he'd made some of them just for one-man musicals in his room at midnight. He couldn't relate, obviously (he could).

Roman had been searching through the ginormous wardrobe for ten minutes, after stating that he had  _ just the thing _ for the occasion. Virgil just sat there reading a comic book in the meantime. He glanced at his friend, up to his knees in assorted clothing items, absent-mindedly singing what sounded like  _ A spoonful of sugar _ while he went through the closet. Literally. He phased in and out the closet.

Several jokes could be made there.

"There it is!!" He finally announced, nearly crawling out of the closet. He was holding... something in his hands. Something creamy white (a color he did not enjoy, thank you very much) and something deep red just beneath it. He laid out the clothes on the floor for Virgil to see.

"Ew." was the boy's only response.

Roman gasped as if he'd been shot: "Excuse you?" 

He shrugged: "Nothing, dude. This just screams Roman Maitland."

"Well, duh." groaned the ghost, "They're mine."

Virgil took another look at the clothes. A disgustingly frilly cream white shirt with some kind of embroidered flower pattern on the collar and red trousers, of all things.

"I don't like it." he concluded.

"Look, you wanna look like the happy golden child or not?" Roman crossed his arms, obviously offended, "I do my best to help you and all you can give me is  _ I don't like it _ ??"

Virgil sighed: "No, you're right. Hand me those."

The first light of morning was beginning to peek through the window. They had been at this for a while, hadn't they?

"And now, time to do what I do best…" Virgil carried the clothes up the stairs with his friend tailing him all the way: "...lock myself in my room."

" _ Our _ room." Roman corrected, "Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I don't take up space."

" _ Our _ room." Virgil conceded. "Time to spend the day doing...I don't know, whatever it is kids our age do when they're trying to pass the time."

"Talking." The ghost mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I said  _ talking _ , Virge. About this." 

He lifted a hand to show he was holding Virgil's suicide note.

_ Shit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virgil should not be allowed to swear but he does it anyway.  
Bastard Man has done the impossible: he got Logan to unironically call a demon sexy. Round of applause for Bastard Man.  
Possession is presented as very humorous in the original story, but it's something viscerally disturbing to me and I wanted to make it a bit creepier here.
> 
> Your kind comments keep me going, keep up the feedback!! :)
> 
> Next time: Roman is a good noodle, Remy is a good noodle, hope y'all like ambiguous Prinxiety because subtext is killing me.


	10. Ready, Set, Not yet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman has some baggage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Discussion of suicide (the healthy kind this time), long discussion of Death in general, swearing, a lot of emotional baggage, a lot of Prinxiety subtext but you can read it however you want

No offense to him, but Roman didn't come off as a smart or deep person at all. He always seemed distracted by something else, generally something unimportant, like all his beloved references. It's not that Virgil had assumed he wouldn't be able to find his note, much less steal it from him, but he had assumed that he wouldn't be able to find his note and steal it from him. He had also assumed that he wouldn't understand what it was about even if he did. He hadn't mentioned death once in his entire note. And even if he did figure it out, he expected to be confronted by a furious Roman right then and there, not hours later in his room.

So basically, he was completely unprepared. And terrified.

The difficult situation activated that reflex one might call a  _ fight-or-flight _ reflex. Well, the  _ flight _ won out.

"I...um... it's just writing practice, I gotta go now."

He made a break for the door, but it slammed shut in front of him.

"Oh no you don't." 

Roman's eyes were glowing.  _ Glowing _ .

_ Well, now I've got anxiety AND an angry ghost on my back. _

He gulped. His thoughts were a lot more sassy than his words, the bastards. 

"Sit down. We're just gonna have a talk about...oh... I don't know, your  ** _suicide note_ ** ? That I didn't know you had? I came up on the roof to have a good time and push some demons off to splatter on the ground and now I'm sad, goddammit Virgil."

That entire monologue was so weird that he wasn't even sure it was Roman that had just spouted all that stuff. He answered anyway: "Roman, I'm-"

"Shhshshshshsh." Roman shushed, "I wasn't finished."

"Roman-"

"I mean, seriously, after all we've been through!!"

"Roman…"

"I thought you knew better, I know that you're an emo nightmare, but I expected more from you!"

"Roman, for fuck's sake!!"

No combination of words in the English language could describe the dramatic gasp that followed. He was pretty sure Patton's ears were ringing, too. 

He elected to ignore it, before he lost Roman’s attention again: “Look, it was nothing. I wrote that when I was having a bad moment.”

“Sure. Then why were you on the rooftop?”

_ Shit. _

“No reason. I needed some air, that’s all.” he lied.

“Virgil, dad told us what happened.” Roman raised his brow: “You’ve always been honest with us. So be honest.”

“Oh, speaking of which!” Virgil snapped his fingers: “How’s Patton doing?”

“Nice try, Virge.”

“No, really.” he raised his hands: “I was worried. He looked upset.”

Roman groaned: “He’s fine!! He’s over it! Now stop avoiding the question.” 

He gestured wildly with his hands, as he always did when he was frustrated or anxious.

Virgil gulped. There was no use lying.

“You’re right.” he admitted, so quietly that Roman had to lean in to hear him, “I was up there because… I...yeah.” 

The silence that fell was so thick it could be sliced with a knife. He awkwardly scratched the back of his head with two fingers. He felt stupid now. In the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten every coping mechanism he’d ever learned, every bit of reassurance and comfort he had in his life, every thought that kept him going. And now that he’d had time to cool down and think about it, he felt incredibly dumb. 

But…

“You’re asking me to be honest, so I’ll be honest.” He knew Roman was staring at him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to look back at him.

“I…” he sighed, “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Or ever, to be honest. But if you insist, at least give me time. I wasn’t ready for this confrontation.”

Roman didn’t say anything, so he continued: “It’s not you. Really. But I promise you, it really was a bad moment.”

“It was a bad moment _ that triggered it _ .” Roman corrected, “There’s always something underneath, Virgil.”

“It doesn’t matter now!” Virgil mumbled, “It doesn’t matter at all!! I thought you of all people would understand loneliness. Roman, in all honesty…” He raised his head, “If I could trade places with you, I’d do it in a heartbeat. From where I stand, you’re lucky!”

He regretted that very quickly.

Roman’s voice cracked: “ _ Lucky _ ???” he yelled, “I’m  ** _dead_ ** !!”

He took in air he didn’t need when he saw Virgil flinch: “Virge, I’m dead. Whatever I wanted to do, I can’t do it. It’s driving me insane. And you know what? I still wouldn’t trade places with you.”

Virgil blinked: “Why not??”

Roman sat on the ground. 

Silence fell.

“Because I don’t want anyone else to go through this.” he admitted after a long pause, “Not even an idiot who thinks he knows best. Virgil, I knew I was dying.” he whispered, “I felt every second of it. I knew my parents were dead too. They didn’t realize it. They didn’t realize it, and I let them find out for themselves, because how was I supposed to tell dad that all the effort he made to save us was for nothing??? How was I supposed to tell him he failed? That all that time he spent trying to dry me and warm me up was useless because I couldn’t feel the cold anyway?” his voice was so quiet, but it sounded like he wanted to scream. “Virgil,” he whispered, “I never told dad that I knew we were dead. I still haven’t told them.”

He looked like he was going to start crying at any given moment, even though his glassy eyes were dry. And Virgil didn’t say anything, because what was he supposed to say to a confession like that?  _ Sorry you disclosed your secret to my undeserving ears, but I don’t feel any better _ ?

He didn’t have to wait long before Roman spoke again: “So what do you want, Virgil? Why do you think this will do you any good?”

Virgil was baffled. He answered before he could turn on the filter: “Roman, I just want my old life back. But I can’t have it back. So what’s the point?”

“I know what you think you’re doing, Virgil.” Roman raised a hand to stop him, “But think of it this way: your dad’s not in this house. He was never anywhere near this house. So what makes you think you’ll ever find him if you die here?”

Of all things Virgil was expecting out of this confrontation, a good argument no one had ever presented him with wasn’t one. But it really was a good point. And although seeing his dad again wasn’t the only reason he’d considered ending his life, knowing there was an afterlife with rules and regulations and ghosts did motivate him to find him again.

“You’re right.” he admitted, quietly. “But that’s not what I wanna focus on today, okay?”

“But-”

“I won’t tell anyone about what you told me, and you don’t have to ever speak of it again if you don’t want to. But to be honest with you, I’d rather end this conversation here. We both need a break.” He hated how his voice made it obvious that he wanted to cry.

“Virge-”

“Please.” he whispered. His voice cracked just a little.

It was said so quietly that a pin falling on the floor would have covered it, but Roman heard. He didn’t speak after that. 

The quiet lasted a few minutes at most before Roman started singing under his breath. Virgil silently paused the music that was blasting in his ears just so he could listen to him.

It was a Disney medley, he figured out eventually. He smothered a laugh. It was so Roman-like to be unable to decide on a single song. Buzzing with ideas as always. 

_ Oh, bless your heart _ .

It was around two hours and three rereads of his comic book later that there was a knock on the door. Roman stopped singing and pointed at the door with an interrogative expression. Virgil shrugged.

"Virgil?" called a muffled voice from the other side of the door, "You awake?"

"Ugh, Remy." he whispered.

"Are you gonna answer him?" Roman whispered too, despite the fact that only Virgil could hear him.

_ Hell no _ , mouthed Virgil.

He remembered thinking about how he didn't hate Remy, he just hated life coaching, blah blah blah. Well, that had gone out the window the day before, so he wasn't gonna humour his delusions anymore. His or his dad's.

Remy continued through the door: "I hope you're sleeping, I do, but if you're not...can we talk?"

Virgil held back an indignant scoff.  _ Oh,  _ ** _now_ ** _ he wants to talk. _

After a few minutes of complete silence, Remy still hadn't walked away from the door. Virgil scooted a little closer to it, placing his ear on the floor so he could figure out his movements. Through the crack under the door, he could see Remy's grey socks. He hadn't left.

He raised his head to lay his ear on the door when he heard Remy speak again, much more quietly this time: "Look, Virgil, I know this looks bad to you. I mean, yeesh. Yuck. No bueno."

Virgil stifled a laugh. Remy was so dumb.

"Still, I've come to know you a little better in these past few months and I just wanted to tell you that...I think you're a smart kid. I think you'll come around soon and I think you'll be able to process your grief into something good. You'll do a better job than me for sure." Remy laughed quietly at that last statement, but it was a joyless and bitter laugh.

Virgil bit his lip. Now he just wanted the guy to leave.

"So yeah, this is my life now. Talking to a sleeping kid through a door and a semi-soundproof wall." Remy sighed, "Talk to you later, sis. Hopefully."

And those were the last words Virgil heard him speak before the sound of his footsteps getting further and further away indicated that he'd left. The crack under the door only showed the soft yellow carpet outside.

He realised he'd been holding his breath.

Roman went back to singing soon, this time at a shamelessly high volume for some reason.

Virgil laid back in bed with his headphones in, wishing the bass riffs could silence the voices in his head.

Dinnertime was approaching fast and he had to start getting ready if he wanted to make a decent entrance. Roman had the basic decency to leave the room at least, but he did talk to him through the door still: "By the way, we need to do your hair as well. Also, and I say this with love, that eyeshadow has got to go."

Virgil groaned: "Are you ever quiet?"

"Not for more than five minutes at a time, my vocal cords always need exercise." came the muffled reply. God, he sounded like such a primadonna. At least he didn’t sound like he wanted to scream and cry anymore.

"Okay, fine, but as soon as they're out of the house I'm changing back."

"Oh. I thought you wanted to leave too?" The bitterness in Roman's voice was very badly concealed, but at least he was trying.

He sighed: "I don't know anymore. The idea of being anywhere with dad and his  _ fiancé _ right now sounds dreadful." 

"I gotta tell you Virge, I've never heard someone put so much disgust into the word _ fiancé _ before." Roman commented.

"Yeah? Well I'm not surprised." Virgil muttered, "Anyway, I'm done changing."

Roman poked his head back in and immediately frowned: "Have you  _ ever  _ worn a shirt in your life, Virgil?"

He looked down at his shirt.

"Yes, I'm just distracted I guess." He shrugged. He had realised just a second too late that his shirt was buttoned up wrong and only half tucked into his pants, which had a pocket inside out. 

"You look disastrous to say the least."

"Thanks Princey, love you too."

"No, seriously." Roman floated to him, all huffy: "You look terrible. You'll never pass for a stable person like that."

He sighed. "Fine, I'll fix it myself." he said, and before Virgil could react he was fixing his shirt collar and buttoning it up properly.

_ Emergency. Physical contact. And he's freezing. _

"Oh-kay, that's enough out of you. You're gonna freeze me to death." he mumbled, swatting Roman's hand away. The ghost backed off with a long string of angry whispered poetry. Yes, poetry. Just another one of Roman’s strange habits. Although he only knew that because he'd read it: it was in a messy folder in Patton's closet, along with all of Roman's childhood creations. Virgil thought it was cute.

Once his shirt was buttoned up right, Roman dragged him to the bathroom to fix up his hair.

Virgil sighed.

_ This is gonna take a while. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what's this?  
An early chapter?  
Yes. SURPRISE!!! *throws confetti*  
I'm sorry, I just couldn't wait to post this chapter because that whole confrontation made me sad and I like sad.  
If you're wondering about Remy, well...that's gonna take a while.  
And I apologize for all the Prinxiety subtext for any non-shippers out there <:3  
Comments and feedback are my biggest source of motivation and I love hearing what you think!! <3  
Next time: The best dinner ever. Revenge is a dish best served with octopus.


	11. Best Dinner Ever (Act 1 Finale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans don't always work when your partners-in-crime are rays of Sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of severe scarring, people being awful, a throwaway joke about underage marriage, possession, panic attack, swearing

Virgil and Roman sat next to the top of the staircase, quietly listening to the sounds of the hustling and bustling downstairs. They glanced at the clock on the wall: almost 7pm. 

“They’ll be here any minute.” giggled Roman.

“Yyyep.” Virgil smirked, “You better have your plan straight.”

“I’ll have you know, Count Woe-laf, that nothing about me is straight.”

“Fair  _ and  _ relatable.” whispered Virgil.

“I knew my gaydar was right.” commented Roman, listening to the adults downstairs panicking about this and that. Remy was clearly on his fifth coffee of the hour, and Damien said as much.

The boys giggled, like the pranksters they were.

The doorbell rang.

** **

_ “They’re here! Where’s Virgil?” _

_ “Upstairs in his room.” _

_ “We’ll have to improvise. Stay there, I’ll open the door.” _

** **

They listened with bated breath as the guests came in. A man and a woman.

** **

_ “Since you allowed a plus one, I brought my third wife along.” _

_ “Ah!! He’s so mean to me!! I’m his fourth wife.” _

** **

“Ah, so Carol came along.” commented Virgil, “I hope they didn’t bring Tim too, wouldn’t want to traumatize him any more than his parents already have."

“How old is Tim?” asked Roman.

“Just nine.”

“Aaaaww, now I kinda wish they’d brought him along.” Roman pouted.

Virgil shushed him: “Shh, I think my cue’s coming up.”

** **

_ “Say, Damien… didn’t you use to have a son somewhere? Where’d you hide him?” _

_ “Ah. I’m afraid Virgil won’t be joining us. He’s having a bit of a rough time lately.” _

** **

“That’s your cue.” Roman grinned, “Off you go.”

Virgil stood up and ran to the first step. After one last nod to Roman, he yelled, in the sweetest voice he could conjure: “Faaatheeeer~”

Roman barely choked back a laugh as the adults’ chatter died down and Virgil ran, with the grace of a professional dancer, down the stairs.

** **

He stopped at the first landing.

“Did I hear the dinner bell ringing?” Virgil smiled, leaning against the rail.

He tried his best not to laugh as he scanned all their faces: Remy looked proud ( _ oh, he couldn’t wait to wipe that look off his face _ ), Gerard and Carol just seemed surprised, but his dad… good Lord. His face was indecipherable, even more so than usual, but if he had to guess, Virgil would say it was a mix of  _ I think my kid’s doppelganger came to dinner,  _ and  _ thank god he’s over it,  _ or maybe  _ I’m suspicious but intrigued. _

He took a moment to bask in their surprise, before running the last few steps down the stairs with the biggest, fakest smile he’d ever sported. “So sorry I’m late, everyone. I’m afraid I shouldn’t have procrastinated so much on choosing what to wear.”

He had spent some time practicing manners with Roman (it was more like two hours of banter, but still) and felt he could do a passable impression of an affable and charming young man. Hah.

If his drive hadn’t been so strong, his anxiety would probably have dictated he stay in his room like his dad had assumed, so he wasn’t far off when he’d told the guests Virgil wasn’t coming. 

He crossed his arms behind his back like a  _ proper _ young man and bowed his head towards the guests.

“Virgil!!” Carol exclaimed, “What an effervescent young man you have become!” 

She shook his hand ( _ ew, no thanks _ ) and then turned to his dad, still holding his right hand in both of hers: “Your father here was trying to hide you from us. What’s wrong, Damien? Afraid I’ll marry him?”

“Oh, she would!!” laughed Gerard.

Both Damien and Virgil offered a polite smile, pretending they weren’t absolutely disgusted by that idea. Which was kind of hard for the poor boy, with Roman (the king of drama himself) standing behind Carol making disgusted faces. Roman made the most hilarious faces.

“Well…” Virgil commented, turning away from his friend so he wouldn’t start laughing at nothing: “This is going to be an interesting evening.”

He glanced at the stairs to see a very excited Patton and a very exhausted Logan on the landing. He winked in their direction and received an enthusiastic thumbs up from Patton as a response. 

“Let it be known that I still think this is a stupid idea.” Logan mumbled in his husband’s direction. Patton laughed.

"Oh, what kind of pranks you pull, Damien." Gerard sighed dramatically, "I know Carol's scary-"

Carol made the most exaggerated gasp ever (after Roman's, of course), but her husband ignored her: "...but hiding poor little Virgil from us, that's almost as messed up as your face!!"

And he and his wife laughed like it was funny.

Damien laughed in a surprisingly convincing manner, although his son knew he was offended. Hell,  _ Virgil _ was offended by that poor excuse for a joke. He marveled at how extraordinarily poor Gerard's taste was, to be able to joke so light-heartedly about a scar that still made Damien cry out in pain when someone touched it. He scanned dad’s face for any sign of grief or hurt. Either he was really good at hiding it, or he’d gotten over it faster than Virgil. 

As the guests sat down to eat, Virgil raised his glass and clinked his fork against it.

“Before we eat, I’d like to propose a toast to the newest member of our family. Remy, you have anything to tell us?” 

“Oh, well…” Remy laughed, “No one told me I’d have to prepare a speech, but I’ll try.”

As he stood up, Virgil sat down: “Sorry, I’ll let you know in advance next time I want you to say a few words.”

“It’s fine, improv is important.”

“Oh yeah.” agreed Roman, standing in his assigned position next to the poor unsuspecting man.

Remy cleared his throat: “Business friends…” he started. Virgil almost laughed at the realization that Damien had probably insisted he drop his usual speech quirks.

“I have only known this amazing man and his unique son for a few months…” He stopped to think for a second, quietly adding: “I don’t even remember how many.”

Virgil glanced at Roman, as if to ask him what he was waiting for. He had the honor of the first dance, so to speak. Roman was enjoying the suspense far too much to look at him, though, so he turned back to Remy as he continued his improvised speech: “But, as a good friend of mine once said…”

It only took a second. Roman lifted his hand and suddenly Remy was singing in a voice that wasn’t his.

** **

“ _ Daaaaaaaaaaay-o!” _

** **

His chest spasmed as Roman released his hold for a moment.

Remy’s face was  _ priceless _ .

** **

Damien put down his glass, amused: “What?”

Virgil put on his best concerned face: “What’s going on, Remy? Are you alright?”

“Of course!” His tutor laughed nervously, slicking his hair back with his hand: “I’m sorry, I don’t know what just happened. What I meant to say was-”

Roman made a more dramatic gesture this time.

** **

_ “Me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day- _ Oh!!”

** **

Remy looked so hilariously confused by the whole thing that Virgil had to stifle a laugh.

Damien glanced at them: “Do you need to lie down, Remy? Or are you two pranking us again?”

“Oh no, dad.” Virgil shook his head, “I had nothing to do with this, I swear.”

His dad seemed skeptical.

This time, Roman tapped Remy’s back.

** **

_ “Daylight come and me wan’ go home…” _

** **

He gasped loudly when Roman let go, holding onto the table: “What is happening???”

Everyone ignored him.

“Damien!!” giggled Gerard.

“Yes!!” exclaimed Damien, laughing way too loud for it to be genuine.

Everyone except for Remy chuckled nervously at the sheer weirdness of the situation.

Virgil laughed from the heart.

His dad stood up too, brushing the imaginary dust off his suit: “On behalf of Remy and myself, I’d just like to say-”

** **

It was at that moment Virgil knew the Maitlands were the best people he'd ever met.

Dad’s shoulders started bopping to a music that came from nowhere, and so did Gerard and Carol’s. It only took Logan a snap of his fingers to bathe the room in a tropical-looking light.

Roman was singing and dancing like his life depended on it (but then again, he always did), and  _ everyone else _ followed suit.

_ Oh my god, I never thought I’d laugh at people dancing to Jamaican work songs. _

Patton was over by the window, doodling little smiley faces with Roman's fake blood.

_ Not sure what’s up with that and I don’t care. _

The whole scene was simply hilarious. Soon all the guests broke into a full-scale dance number to the Banana Boat song, an awkward chorus of four bumbling idiots in a conga line, around the hall and around the dinner table.

Virgil climbed up on his chair, laughing in wonder.

It was then that his dad noticed him: "Virgil, call for hel- wait. Why aren't you dancing?"

He exchanged a knowing look with Logan: "It's like I told you, dad. This house is haunted. And the ghosts who live here…"

A red curtain fell over his eyes as Logan made them glow crimson: "...want you  _ out _ !!!"

Roman made a sweeping gesture with his arms, sending Damien spinning towards the wall.

Virgil gasped: "Patton, the food!!"

"Oh!!" Patton exclaimed, "Who wants crab??"

The crabs in their plates crawled out and onto the floor, pinching the guests in their ankles, and yet they kept dancing through their screams. Remy's shirt got caught in something at one point, ripping his entire right sleeve off and leaving a small scratch on his shoulder, and still they couldn't stop dancing.

The conga line reformed as the music played on and on, and Damien finally found the strength to speak: "Gerard, I'm so sorry, I didn't know-"

"Shut up, you moron!!" replied the man, at the front of the line, "Don't apologize! We're gonna be rich!!"

"What?" Damien and Virgil asked at the same time. They were genuinely confused. How could this possibly be a good thing?

"I was never gonna invest in your stupid gated community project. But a genuine haunted house? Now  _ that _ 's a goldmine!!"

" ** _No!!_ ** " screamed Virgil, grabbing his head in despair.

"Virgil, we're so sorry!! It didn't work!!" Patton descended the stairs with genuine regret painted on his face. The fun atmosphere that had permeated the air just moments before was gone in an instant and Virgil's chest tightened.

The music and the lights weren’t fun anymore. They were obnoxious and loud and so  _ grating _ against his pulsing ears and his misty eyes. He was in pain, that much was clear. He was breathing erratically, sobbing breathlessly and pulling his hair. Roman abandoned the possession in favour of running (or floating) to his distraught friend, but before he could get close, Virgil mumbled something that alarmed all three of them: "There's only one thing that can still stop them."

"Virgil, no." Logan shook his head, "You don't know what will happen!"

" ** _I can't keep living like this!!_ ** " cried Virgil. His voice cracked as tears started rolling down his cheeks like pearls overflowing from a treasure chest. Logan stopped Roman and Patton from getting any closer, realizing there was nothing he could do. Roman made a furious attempt to get his dad to let go of his arm, but he was still small and Logan was still determined and eventually his parents won out.

** **

Virgil turned his head to the sky: "Beetlejuice!"

"Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh  _ boy _ !!" gargled Remus, emerging directly from the big pot on the dinner table, completely covered in pea soup, "I'm so happy you changed your mind!"

_ Gross. _

" _ Beetlejuice _ !" Virgil repeated, locking away the voice in his mind that was telling him just how  _ stupid _ he was being.

_ It’ll be over soon. _

"We're going to be the best of friends, I know it. Just one more time!!" Remus was standing next to him now, suddenly completely dry.

“Virgil, I  _ swear  _ to God, if you say it-”

He didn’t look at Roman. 

Roman finished his promise anyway: “If you say it, I will  ** _never_ ** _ forgive you _ !!”

Virgil paused. It would've been so, so easy to end the summoning there and send Remus back from whence he came, but it would've been even easier to just humour him and see what he could do. His eyes met Roman’s for just a split second. He looked so  _ betrayed _ . Virgil shook his head.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes: " ** _Beetlejuice!!!_ ** "

** **

A shrill voice beside him laughed.

** **

" **It's showtime** ** _._ ** "

** **

There was a bright flash of light. There was definitely a lot of screaming. Whenever he tried to open his eyes, a bright flash of light would force him to shut them tight.

He did hear the guests, though.

"Who the hell are these people?" yelled his dad.

_ These people? He must be seeing the Maitlands too. _

He delicately opened his eyes to see that, indeed, everyone was staring at the family huddled together on the first landing. Their attention was, however, quickly caught by the ridiculous-looking stranger standing beside them.

"What the fuck is that??" screamed Gerard, grabbing the first thing he could find (a napkin) in order to defend himself.

"Oooh, what are you gonna do with that? Spank me??" Remus cackled.

Virgil stuck out his tongue in a disgusted motion. Remus was indeed good at making people uncomfortable.

"Now, we're gonna play a little game…"

Remus took a few steps, reveling in the attention of the guests, "...a game that I like to call… _ Run For Your Lives™!! _ "

And then the fucker pulled out a morningstar. Out of thin air. The room itself began to shift as the stairs shot upwards and suddenly he couldn't see the Maitlands anymore. The chairs twisted into bug-like sculptures, the table's legs slithered away from it like snakes, the eight columns of the room turned into terrifying green tentacles.

That's when the screaming really started. Virgil couldn't see anymore. The lights were strobing feverishly, everything was moving in an incomprehensible spiral of madness that kicked the guests out the door one by one. 

A scream rose above the rest for just a moment: " ** _Virgil!!_ ** "

And then his dad was gone too, the doors shut behind him.

It was only him and Remus now.

"They're gone!" Virgil exclaimed, drying his tears, "They're really gone!!"

He broke into a fit of relieved laughter.

"It's our house now, kid!" grinned Remus.

He raised his arms and the room morphed completely into complex, twisted architecture based on a certain, indescribable something. Something ancient, that smelled like putrid seas and rotting fish, black and green and touches of white here and there. Bugs, snakes and all kinds of sea creatures populated the pattern on the walls and the carpet, they crawled down the stairs and all over the food, making quick work of the fancy dinner and effectively eliminating every trace of the adults’ presence.

"Woah." was all Virgil could say before the demon ran his arms around his shoulder and pulled him into another one of his suffocating hugs.

** **

Remus smiled: "Looks like we're not invisible anymore!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY  
THAT'S IT, I'M GOING ON BREAK  
Oh my god this chapter was a mess to write.  
I'm so sorry.
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> First chapter of Act 2 comes out on Halloween!! Because thematic appropriateness is important, kids.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: No one took out the Maitlands' stuff because there was no close family and Damien doesn't really care, he just wants some rest.  
Poor Damien. :(
> 
> I had a lot of fun describing the rooms, ngl
> 
> This chapter was very descriptive, I know, but it's really just a prologue.
> 
> Feedback is always welcome and appreciated and also English isn't my first language so please point out any mistakes you see :)
> 
> See you next chapter!
> 
> Next time: Nightmares, coffee and life coaching.


End file.
